Page 52 of Dear Pink

Soft giggles break me out of my reverie, and I jostle away with a delirious grin. Beside the gorgeous onlookers towers another leggy model. She resembles the other two with amber eyes, but her dark mane sits in a topknot on her head. The three of them look too beautiful to exist.

“Gabe, she’s adorable,” the tall goddess says.

Adorable? A twinge of regret hits me, reminding me Gabe is way out of my league.

“She’s not a puppy,” a voice says above me.

A young girl who favors Gabe descends the curving staircase like a southern debutante. Her long hair falls in the same golden waves and her eyes glow cerulean blue. When she reaches us, she pushes her sisters out of the way and hugs me.

“Hi. I’m Gina, the nice sister in the house.”

I hug her, and the kindness feels like salvation. I untangle myself from her arms, and Gabe shifts me close to him. He introduces the other three women as Ghita, Gemma, and Gabriela.

“Hi.” I peek around for the other two. He mentioned six sisters, right?

As if reading my mind, Gabe says, “Gloria and Giovanna are in the kitchen helping Mom.

“That’s a lot of G’s.”

“My parents are nuts.”

“Who you calling nuts?” A tall man with blond hair streaked gray appears in the foyer, chuckling. It’s a glimpse of Gabe in forty-years, and I’m impressed. His dad is a dead ringer for Jeff Bridges. He even has the distinguished beard.

“Dad, this is Hannah.”

“Hi, Hannah. Nice to meet you. Call me Nic. I hope you’re hungry.”

“Definitely,” I say, hesitant to eat in front of these beautiful people. What if I get food stuck in my teeth?

“Where’s Mom?” Gabe asks.

“In the kitchen, but I’d stay away if I were you”—he lowers his voice to a whisper—“too many cooks in the kitchen.”

Gabe nods and nudges me. “Let’s go outside.”

The sisters watch as we head through the foyer and into the living room. Similar to the outside of the house, the inside is also cozy and lived-in. The couches explode with velvet and silk pillows and multi-colored throws. Persian rugs lay on top of each other, creating an intricate international patchwork of colors and patterns. As I pass the pieces of furniture, my fingers stroke the soft fabrics. This house feels homier than my own.

Gabe guides me to a wall of French doors revealing a yard the size of a meadow. Wildflowers bloom in every nook and cranny except for a single mowed path leading to an open barn with an outdoor kitchen and long picnic tables. Twinkle lights hang from the rafters inside the dark spaces. Two women, probably Gloria and Giovanna, set the tables. We walk toward them, but Gabe suddenly veers left and takes me to a secret corner out of view.

“Finally, I have you to myself,” he says. He winds his fingers through mine and lifts my arms over my head, pinning me against an old pecan tree. He presses his body along mine, bringing his lips to my ear. “You’re beautiful, Pink.”

I momentarily lose control of speech. Breath catches in my throat as he leaves a trail of kisses on my shoulder. His lips graze the top of my breasts, and I sigh. My rules for sexual survival fly out the window. Elise worries flutter out of my mind’s eye, and his six gorgeous sisters become a distant memory. My own body floats away.

His lips skim the sensitive part of my ear. “Let’s get out of here.”

My vision blurs, and I almost say yes. He knows exactly when to question me, the devil. I shift my body and step on a pecan. The loud crack of the shell breaks his mesmerizing allure. I lift my face. “We can’t ditch your parents. I just got here, and your mother prepared lunch.”

He twists a strand of my hair in his fingers. “That’s what I appreciate about you, Pink. You keep your promises.”

I draw him toward me, feeling his hardness. “This is what I appreciate about you.”

“That’s it? Only my special bedroom skills?”

“Who said your skills were special?” I giggle, pushing away to meet his gaze.

His dangerous eyes travel over my body, hungry with desire. Alert bells go off in my head. Warning. Warning. I can’t let him in, or I might tell him all my secrets: like how much I adore him, and when he holds my hand, my heart flutters. When he discusses his life, I want to confess the truth about mine. Ugh. His killer smile sends a powerful heat throughout my body. I treasure the way his eyes light up when I’m naked, daring me to commit indecent acts with him. Oh, and his scent . . . fresh linen dried outside in the sun.

I bite my bottom lip and don’t say a word because releasing those thoughts feels perilous. He gives me a fiendish grin. I slip my fingers loose, take his head in my hands, and kiss him long and deep until he forgets leaving.

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